


Just Like A Tattoo

by orphan_account



Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Tattoos, yes the title is from a jordan spark's song thanks for noticing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 20:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7729252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harley gets a tattoo gun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like A Tattoo

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the real life events of Margot getting a tattoo gun and giving the cast some ink, and the fact that Will did actually give Joel his tattoo. 
> 
> Slight canon divergence, because Chato gets to live and the Joker doesn't come back.

Everyone assumed the espresso machine would be the only request. But, as usual, Harley was full of surprises. 

“We’re not giving you a gun.” Rick stared at her like she had grown another head. Harley giggled. 

“Not a real gun, silly!” Harley insisted. “A tattoo gun.” 

“A tattoo gun?” Deadshot asked, raising his eyebrows, probably suspecting Harley could make that just as dangerous as any normal gun. 

“Yes!” Harley beamed, showing off a few of her own tattoos with a spin. “See, only me and Diablo over here are sporting some ink.” She winked. “You guys need to catch up.”

“I’m not letting you anywhere near me with that thing, dollface.” Deadshot said, catching Rick’s eye. He blanched at his expression. “You’re not seriously considering it, are you?” Rick shrugged. 

“You guys saved the world,” he grinned. “What’s one measly tattoo gun?” 

 

And that’s how the next day, Harley ended up with a tattoo gun, a full set of inks and a newly sterilized cell, all per her request. Rick stood skeptically at the door, the rest of the squad in cuffs in a line behind him, a silent Katana at his side. 

“Who’s first?” Harley grinned manically. Deadshot shook his head, backing up. 

"Listen, I've faced some real big men with real big guns. But, none of them were as terrifying as her." He said, pointing to the tiny woman in front of him, wielding the delicate tattoo gun like an AK-47. 

The whole team remained silent, including Rick, who simply cocked an eyebrow in response. 

“Looks like you’ve got no customers,” he smirked. “What a shame.” Harley pouted, retreating slightly away from the bars. The guards on either side of the squad began to move, intending to escort everyone back to their cells. Rick gave Harley one last nod before turning on his heel. 

“Wait.” Rick’s mouth fell open at the sound of Katana’s rarely used voice beside him. She hadn’t turned around to follow the rest of the group. Instead, she stood facing Harley. She took one step forward, and stuck her foot through the bars of the cell. Immediately, every guard raised their gun, Rick included. Harley stared at the foot in front of her for a moment before a wild grin broke out across her face. 

“You want a tattoo?” She asked. Katana didn’t hesitate, she simply nodded, pushing her foot a bit further into the cell. Gun still raised, Rick moved in closer, and wasn’t surprised when the rest of the squad followed suit. 

“Is she nuts?” Deadshot asked in his ear. “Harley could kill every one of us with that thing.” Rick shrugged. 

“She knows what she’s doing.” He whispered back, nodding towards Katana. Silently, the group watching in awe as Harley bent down and gently took hold of Katana’s foot. Rick half expected her to bite it, or try to break it, or something of that nature. She didn’t. She simply slipped Katana’s off boot and placed the gun to her skin. Katana didn’t even flinch. Rick bent down, watching at the first letter began to form, just along the side of Katana’s foot. Harley giggled as she worked, her tongue stuck through her teeth in concentration. Katana watched, face expressionless. 

“The foot’s supposed to hurt,” Diablo finally spoke, near the end of the line. “A lot.” The whole squad stared. Katana still didn’t move. Harley hummed. No one spoke. 

“There!” Harley bolted up after what seemed like a lifetime of tense silence to Rick. He stared as Katana slipped her foot back out of the bars. Along its side, in thin letting, was the word ‘Skwad’. 

“Skawd?” Rick asked. “Is that even a word?” 

“Of course not, honey.” Harley rolled her eyes. “I made it up.”

“What does it mean?” Deadshot asked, staring down at Katana’s food. 

“It’s us.” Harley grinned. “We’re the skwad!” For a moment, no one moved. They simply stared at the now permanent writing on Katana’s body. Rick glanced at her face and swore he caught a smile, before Harley was rushing back to her kit to grab what appeared to be gauze. She tore some off with her teeth and stuck her hand through the bars. Rick heard a gun cock behind him. 

“Here,” Harley smiled at Katana, holding out the gauze. “You know, so you don’t get an infection or something.” Katana accepted the gauze, and as everyone watched, leaned down and wrapped up her foot, covering the tattoo before slipping her boot back on. She glanced at Harley. 

“Thank you.” And with that, she was gone, walking out of the room, leaving a stunned crowd in her wake.

“See?” Harley asked after a moment. “Told you she seemed nice.”

 

The Croc went next. About a week later, after a particularly successful mission, he had blunted requested to be escorted to Harley’s cell. The rest of the group demanded to follow. Understanding the arrangement (they save the world, they get something they want within reason), Rick agreed. Behind her bars once more, Harley still seemed as peppy as ever. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that this time, Rick was the only guard in the room. Though there were about ten right outside the door, told to move in at the slightest whimper, Rick thought it was best that he was in their alone. To build trust, or something. 

Croc had been let in the cell. Rick reasoned that if Harley tried anything funny, he’d eat her. 

“Where do you want it?” Harley asked, popping her gum. Croc grinned, and in a swift motion ripped off his shirt. Deadshot rolled his eyes, watching from outside the bars beside Rick. 

“Why is he always doing that?” He asked. “Drama queen.” Rick chuckled, watching as Croc pointed to the center of his chest, just below his collar bone. Harley beamed, leaning in, gun in hand. 

“Hey, big guy?” She asked after a moment of silent work. “What’s your real name? Something tells me you weren’t born being called Croc and all.” For a moment, Croc didn’t speak. Rick half expected him not to answer at all. 

“Waylon.” He grunted. Harley hesitated slightly, staring up at him. 

“Waylon?” She asked, her face breaking out into a grin. “What a name!” The Croc growled, but for some reason, Rick didn’t hear any malice in it. “Well, Waylon,” Harley stepped back, admiring her work. “You’re all done!” 

Rick leaned in, the rest of the squad following suit. Croc, or Waylon, turned toward them. Faint against his scaled skin, the word ‘Skwad’ could still be seen. He grinned. 

“You can call be Chato,” Diablo spoke first, just behind Rick. He straightened up, and for the briefest moment, Rick thought he might’ve been scared. “If we’re going by first names.” Harley clapped her hands together. 

“Oh, there is no way we’re going by first names,” Deadshot insisted, putting his hands up. “We’re a team, not a girl scout troop.”

“Whatever you say,” Rick grinned, moving to let Waylon out of Harley’s cell. “Floyd.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before the whole room was laughing, Floyd not included. 

“Floyd?” Boomerang laughed. “What kind of master assassin is named _Floyd_.” 

“Oh, c’mon guys, it’s sweet!” Harley insisted. “I think my grandpa was named Floyd!” This set the room off on another peal of laughter. Even Katana let out a small chuckle. Floyd simply glared. 

“What?” Floyd rounded on Boomerang. “Something tells me your first name isn’t Captain!” Boomerang blanched, glancing around the room desperately. 

“Fine!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up in defeat. “It’s George.” 

“George?” Floyd asked incredulously. 

“But my friends call me Digger.” He replied hastily. 

“Seems very Australian.” Harley interjected. Floyd chuckled, patting Digger on the shoulder roughly, despite his hands still being cuffed. 

“Looks like we’ve all been properly acquainted,” he said, before sparing a glance at Katana. She caught it. The room was silent for a moment before Rick finally spoke. 

“Ok, guys, that’s enough.” He smiled. “I hate to say it, but your cells are calling your names.” Despite what the others might've assumed, this was Rick’s least favorite part of the day. It reminded him that despite everything, they weren’t truly a team. He still had some sort of power over them, a power he didn’t necessarily like. To his surprise, no one protested. They probably understood the better their behaved, the more times like this they could have. Digger, Waylon, Chato and Floyd lined up, following Rick and Katana. Harley blew them a kiss goodbye as they left her room. 

Floyd was the last to be dropped off. He mock saluted Rick as he took off his hand cuffs off through the bars. 

“I’ll see you outside Katana.” He nodded to his bodyguard. She stared at him for a moment before nodding as well, turning on her heel to go. She paused slightly, just out of Floyd’s line of sight. 

“Tatsu,” Rick glanced over at her, surprised. “My name is Tatsu.” Rick turned back to look at Floyd, hands still around the other man’s wrists. Floyd shrugged. 

“Well, I’ll catch you later Tatsu.” Floyd grinned, still staring at Rick. Rick heard Tatsu leave, but didn’t watch her go. He was too bust gauging Floyd’s reaction. Finally, he got the handcuffs off. Rubbing his wrists, Floyd whistled. 

“Something tells me that girl doesn’t reveal too much.” Floyd ventured. Rick nodded, focused on Floyd’s wrists, the way he kept rubbing them. “I feel like I just won the lottery or something.” He smirked, settling on his bed. 

“Yeah,” Rick nodded absentmindedly. “Listen, if you promise not to kill me,” Rick started, catching Floyd’s gaze. “I’ll tell the guards you don’t need handcuffs. To visit Harley, I mean.” Floyd stared at him for a moment before nodding thoughtfully. 

“I mean, considering I’ve already saved your ass,” he smirked. “I think you can trust I won’t go out of my way just to kill you.” Rick nodded, and as he left, felt resolved to make sure that after their next mission, his team wouldn’t end up in cuffs in front of him again. 

 

Convincing the guards to let the squad go without handcuffs for their next visit to Harley’s Self Proclaimed Tattoo Parlor had taken a great deal of effort. But with enough strong arming, and a well placed call to Waller, they had been convinced. Despite being surrounded by dangerous criminals, all out of their hand cuffs, Rick felt more at ease than he had in the past. Sure, Rick still had a gun, and guards were still right outside the room, but the playing field felt more level now.

Besides, no one was focusing on escaping. Chato was getting a tattoo today. 

“Oh! Found a spot.” Harley exclaimed, bringing the gun to Chato’s shoulder, apparently having found a spot of skin clear of any other tattoos. The two of them sat on her bed, the rest of the group outside of the bars, as had become the custom during these sessions. 

“That sure is a pretty tattoo,” Harley said, glancing at a small rose beside the space she was using. “What’s that, a rose?” Chato nodded, her expression unreadable. 

“It was for my daughter,” he began. Harley hesitated, pulling her gun away from his skin. “Her name was Rose.” For a moment, Rick half expected Harley to start yelling again, like she had back in that bar during their first mission. But she didn’t. She simply resumed her writing, sparing a glance at Chato’s face every few minutes. 

“You know, Chato,” Harley began one she had finished. “You had tattoos for your first family,” he stared at her, accepting the gauze she had grabbed. “Now you have one for your second family.” Chato glanced down at his shoulder, finding the word ‘Skwad’ among his cluster of other ink. In a moment, he was moving towards Harley. Rick was already on his feet, gun in hand when Chato grabbed her shoulders. Harley’s eyes widened, and widened even further when Chato pulled her into a hug. 

Rick stood, mouth agape, and watched as a man who could burst into flame at any moment hug someone Rick thought of as one of the most dangerous people in the world. The room seemed to hold it’s breath for a minute until Chato let go and turned, motioning for Rick to unlock the cell. He did, and stepped back as Chato walked towards the door. He knocked on it and guards burst in. Glancing around to make sure Rick was in one piece, the guards nodded at him before motioning for the other members of the squad to follow. Rick watched one by one as the squad left the room, Katana taking up the rear, to make sure the guards didn’t try anything, Rick supposed. 

He turned back to Harley. For a moment, her expression was pensive, almost sad. She caught Rick’s eye and offered a smile, more subdued than any he’d ever seen her give. He noticed, in a moment of pure shock, that her eyes were wet. 

“Isn’t it silly,” Harley murmured, hurriedly wiping her eyes. “I can’t even remember the last time someone hugged me.” She tried for a laugh and turned around, facing the opposite wall. Rick took this as his signal to leave. Locking the door behind him, Rick wondered when he had begun to feel protective over a group of supposed villains. Biting back the feeling of worry, he followed the familiar path to Floyd’s cell. Glad to see him, Rick stood for a moment on the other side of the bars, unsure of what to say. 

“Everything ok, man?” Floyd asked, coming up the bars. Rick nodded. 

“Yeah, of course,” he began. “It’s just,” he hesitated, glancing at Floyd. He wondered, for a brief moment, if he considered them friends, because Rick was starting to. “We have to make sure Harley doesn’t end up with the Joker. Not again.” Floyd stared at him for a moment, a slow smile emerging. 

“Yeah, yeah of course, man.” He nodded. “Didn’t think you cared.” Rick shrugged, trying to seem casual. “If you’re not careful, the team’s gonna start calling you ‘Dad’” Floyd chuckled. Rick rolled his eyes, before perking up slightly, his hand going to his coat pocket. 

“That reminds me,” he murmured, tugging out a thick envelope. “A letter from Zoe.” Floyd grinned at him, accepting the envelope through the bars.

“You gonna start actually handing these over now?” Floyd asking, staring down at the envelope in awe. Rick nodded. 

“Every week.” He confirmed, and for some reason, it came out sounding like a promise. “By the way,” Floyd tore his eyes away from the letter to glance at him. “When are you gonna get one of those tattoos?” Floyd snorted, heading back towards his bed. 

“Not likely, man.” He said, waving the letter. “I got a daughter, remember? Don’t wanna be a bad influence.” 

“Right,” Rick said. “Because being hitman, you were setting such a stellar example.” As he retreated down the hall, Rick couldn’t see Floyd laugh, but he still heard him. He liked the sound.

 

Digger swore a lot while he was getting his tattoo.

“Can’t a man get a whiskey in here?” Digger asked desperately, watching as Harley finished the ‘A’ on his calf. “This hurts like a bitch.” 

“C’mon, man.” Floyd laughed. “Tough it out.” 

“Take it like a girl.” Tatsu smirked, catching Digger’s eye. In a moment, his resolve was steeled. Something about being one of the only people Tatsu would have a conversation with seemed to do that to him. 

“You’re doing great, Diggie!” Harley encouraged, pulling out the nickname she had created for him on their last mission. He cringed, but nodded, his hands tightening around his pink unicorn. “There,” Harley smiled proudly. “All done!” Digger glanced at his leg, grinning at the sight of his new ink. 

“Looks pretty good,” he smirked. “Not bad, Harley.” 

“I aim to please.” She winked. Rick chuckled, grabbing his phone from his pocket when it began to buzz. 

“Hello?” He asked, already knowing who was on the other end. 

“Flag, we have a situation.” Waller got straight to the point. “Some sort of meta-human back in Midway, assemble the team,”

“Actually,” Rick began, glancing around the cell. “We’re already together, they just need to suit up.”

“Already together?” Waller asked incredulously. The line was silent for a moment, and Rick didn’t dare speak. “Fine. Suit up. I’ve already sent a chopper, expect it in ten.” She hung up. 

“We have a situation,” Rick said, just as the guards hustled into the room to escort them to the tarmac. 

“What kind of situation?” Chato asked, tensing at the guards entered the room. 

“The kind that requires you all suit up.” Rick clarified. “The chopper should be here soon.” Chato grinned, and the team was up, following Rick out of the cell, flanked by guards on either side. Floyd fell into step beside him, taking the lead at his side as usual. 

“Waller give you any details?” He asked. 

“Nope,” Rick shook his head. “Does she ever?” 

“Nope,” Floyd laughed, and Rick ignored the sharp tug in his gut at the now familiar sound. “Let’s go.” 

 

Rick hadn’t meant to get hurt. Even though the whole “Flag dies, you die” thing had been pushed to the back of everyone’s mind, Rick still wanted to be there for his team in battle. But the meta-human, commanding steel with his mind, had flung a car on top of him, and the injuries he sustained were pretty non-negotiable. His men had gotten him out of there quickly, despite his protests, and as he was taken away in a chopper, he fought to stay conscious through the pain. 

The night in the hospital had been a restless one. He’d blacked out earlier, but now he was wide awake, the pain from his injuries waning slightly. He’d tried calling Waller about fifteen times already before one of the nurses insisted he rest. He was surprised when the woman herself entered his room not ten minutes later, followed closely by guards. 

“Flag, are you alright?” She asked, her voice calm. Rick nodded, feeling utterly vulnerable in front of her. Nodding at the guards to leave, Waller approached his bed, her expression unreadable. 

“How’s the team?” He asked, voice hoarse. 

“Everyone is fine,” she confirmed. “The meta-human had been contained, and no serious injuries were sustained.” 

“Thank God,” Rick murmured, relief flooding him. Waller stood above him, stoic as ever. 

“Flag,” she began steadily. “I need you to understand something.” Rick nodded. “The people you’re working with are criminals, no matter how reformed or loyal they seemed.” Waller stared at him searchingly. “Don’t get too close.” 

She left before he could respond, leaving him alone in his room once more, her words replaying in his head, overlapping with the sound of Floyd’s laugh. 

That night, Rick decided to get a tattoo. 

 

A week later, his injuries treated and fading, Rick was back in Harley’s cell, only this time, he was behind the bars with her. He tried his best not to feel completely exposed. 

“Where do you want it?” She asked, her grin on the wrong edge of maniacal. Rick opened his mouth to speak, catching Floyd’s eyes on the other side of the bars. He smirked. 

“Actually,” Rick began, walking over to the bars. “I want Floyd to do it.” Harley stared at him, then at Floyd, her grin never faltering. 

“Whoa,” Floyd began, backing away from the bars. “No way, man.” 

“Oh, c’mon, Floyd.” Digger chided. 

“Thought you could use any gun.” Chato smirked. 

“Pussy.” Waylon snarled. Tatsu nodded in agreement. 

“You’re all dead to me.” Floyd sneered, steeping inside the cell. Carefully, Harley handed him the gun. 

“Good luck, hot stuff.” She waved, settling down on the floor near the bars. 

“Ok,” Floyd began gruffly, joining Rick on the bed. He angled himself slightly, so that while Rick sat with his legs over the side of the bed, Floyd sat cross legged beside him, his whole body turned towards the other man. “Where do you want it?” Rick pointed to his right bicep, the one closest to Floyd, his grin a challenge. Floyd glared, but nodded, and carefully, took Rick’s arm in his hand. 

The first thing Rick felt were calluses. Rough against his skin, the product of years of handling guns, Rick had a few of his own. But his were nothing like Floyd’s. They weren’t as tough, but at the same time, Rick decided his callused hands could never be so gentle. While one hand worked with the gun, the other absentmindedly stroked Rick’s arm, as if Floyd was unconsciously trying to calm him down. If the rest of the squad noticed, they didn’t say anything. They simply watched in rapt silence at Floyd shakily finished the first letter. 

“You’ll pay for this, Flag.” Floyd muttered. Rick just laughed, trying to stay as still as possible. “Man, doesn’t this hurt at all?” Rick hesitated, and for the first time since Floyd at begun, noticed the sting of the needle. He realized in a rush he’d been so distracted by Floyd’s touch, he hadn’t even noticed the pain. 

“No,” Rick lied. “I can take it.” Floyd met his gaze and smirked, as if he saw right through him. Rick supposed he probably could. 

“If you say so,” Floyd murmured, and with an uneven breath, started on the next letter. Rick wondered if their proximity was messing with Floyd’s head as much as it was messing with his. He could feel Floyd’s breath, hot on his arm, and with his forearm against Floyd’s chest, Rick could even feel the other man’s heartbeat. It was fast. Time passed slowly like this, Rick trying to memorize the details of Floyd up close, Floyd focused intently on his work. Finally, Floyd’s head came up and Rick tried not to jerk back. 

“Done.” He said. For a brief, wild moment, Rick wondered what would happen if he leaned in. Harley’s giggle interrupted his thoughts. 

“Well, Floyd.” She began, stepping closer to examine the tattoo. “Looks like we finally found a gun you can’t use.” Rick glanced down at his bicep and laughed. It really did look like shit. He held his arm up for the rest of the team to see. Digger burst out laughing immediately.

“It looks like a three year old wrote that!” He said, which earned him a glare from Floyd. 

“Congrats on your first ink, man.” Chato smirked. Waylon and Tatsu simply shared a glance, which was somehow more insulting to Floyd than what Digger had said. 

“Ok, show’s over!” He exclaimed, following Rick after he opened the cell door. 

“You sure you don’t want your own, pumpkin?” Harley asked. “I promise it’ll look better!” Floyd flipped her off, which only made her laugh. She waved goodbye to the squad as they left, and Rick thanked her for the use of her tattoo gun. 

“Sure thing,” she smiled, something knowing in her eyes. “Anything to help a friend.”

 

As he had done numerous times before, Rick followed Floyd back to his cell. But this time, he didn’t let the bars close between them. 

“Where’s the usual guard?” Floyd asked, watching as Rick stepped inside his cell. 

“I paid him five dollars and told him to fuck off for a while.” Rick shrugged. Floyd nodded, glancing at Rick’s arm. He chuckled, admiring his own work. 

“I really shouldn’t quit my day job,” he muttered. 

“I like it.” Rick insisted, fighting a laugh. “Even if it does look like shit.” Floyd rubbed the back of his head, and for a moment, Rick wondered if he was nervous.

“Well, I’m glad I could be of service.” Floyd sat on the edge of his bed, Rick’s usual cue to leave. But this time, he didn’t. Rick stayed, taking a step closer to the bed, standing over Floyd. 

“I wish you weren’t in here.” He said. "In this prison, I mean." Rick tried not to pause, because if he did, he was worried he'd stop entirely. "It doesn't feel right." Floyd looked taken aback by this, but brushed it off quickly with a shrug. 

“Every mission is another ten years off.” He said, eye watching Rick carefully. “Besides, if it makes you feel any better,” Floyd paused, still holding Rick’s gaze. “I’m glad you’re in here with me.” 

“Really?” Rick asked, a bit surprised. 

“Yeah, you’re good for the team.” Floyd justified. “Good for me, too.” His voice was so quiet, Rick could barely hear the next thing he said. “Makes me feel more human.” Rick stared at him, and before he knew was he was doing, he was leaning down and Floyd was straightening up and they were kissing. The kiss was soft at first, Floyd’s hands coming up to rest on Rick’s shoulders, but then Rick’s back started to hurt and he got tired of hunching. He pulled away, and before Floyd could speak, his was straddling him, chasing his lips again. 

“Wait,” Floyd interrupted, breath coming out in short gasps. “How long exactly did you tell that guard to fuck off for?”

“As long as we need.” Rick murmured, and with a smirk, Floyd was kissing him again. 

Rick felt the sting of his tattoo and grinned. He was glad it was permanent. 


End file.
